You burn, you sink, or you are destroyed
by Be3
Summary: When Remus Lupin goes away, they tell him he got the curse thing wrong. Compatible with 'Integrity' and 'A Man for another Night'.
1. Minerva

Standard disclaimer applies.

Now it's a stand-alone piece in several chapters, but I kind of need it for 'Integrity', as part of world-building. Also compatible with 'A Man for Another Night'. WB + established characters = OOC :), so be warned!

1\. And then in the morning, you see all the ways that you should have acted.

Her new card said, Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor, Head of Transfiguration at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Some people asked what 'Head of Transfiguration' even meant, since she was the only Transfigurator in the school. They were the people who thought the Ministry appointed every cog in the machine, and the turtles went all the way down. The people who never seemed to look up, they had reptilian tastes themselves.

That's why she had left the Ministry. The turtles shied from under the castle of Hogwarts.

Sometimes, she wondered if that wasn't the smart thing to do.

Early in her first year, a girl fell out the window and broke her arm. It was healed before dinner, nobody said anything to the young teacher, it was fine.

It didn't even happen during her lesson.

She'd had worse in Quidditch practice, let alone in a game. (And Slytherin was going to lose.)

But Minerva charmed all windows that night, that she knew of and could reach.

She trusted the Headmaster to take care of his own office, and everybody knew no man alive could fall from the Astronomy Tower, and of course, there were fake windows.

She didn't really have to charm those. And it was harder, too. Just not too hard.

Next morning, she came to the Teachers' Lounge wearing more make-up than ever, and Sophie 'Sissy' O'Hara tutted and fixed it for her. Sophie was Muggle-born, and liked to do things without magic if she could help it, and it was a scar of Hogwarts that couldn't be healed. Sophie wasn't cut out for the Muggle Studies job. (Much later Minerva would think that very few people actually were.)

But being fussed over was better than thinking about overseeing an actual Quidditch game. As an adult.

She got through that Next Day, put her comb on the nightstand (beside her shiny new card) and incinerated the one white hair it snugged out of her black mane with a precise flame.

Her second year, there was an a Slytherin versus Hufflepuff Very Big War, with Slytherin being Very Cunning and Hufflepuff being Very United. One day she was called to another pile-up in the halls and was about to Very Swoop down on them when she saw the Ravenclaw Head Boy hiding behind a suit of armor.

'What are you doing there, Mr. Kersby?'

'Waiting, Professor.'

Life should be so simple, she thought. She gave detentions to all of them and went to Flitwick to negotiate, which she didn't have to, as it were.

Flitwick just said, looking through her, that it was entirely reasonable and completely within her authority.

What he didn't say was, how did you expect my Head Boy to sort it out by himself? True, he could have run to a teacher, but people already had, and somebody should have stayed in place to keep an eye on things, to tell the Madame the grisly details.

And Flitwick didn't say, you gave him a detention, with Filch, do you think it will improve his character?

And Flitwick didn't say that he was going to find Mr. Kersby and teach him the thickest shields the kid could will into being. She had to find out the hard way, when the Weasleys took off Kersby's Death Eater's Mask from his dead face.

But this was her second year, and she knew it was her responsibility to prevent fights in the halls, so she went to Dumbledore and they talked and there was Increased Discipline and no more pile-ups. So ended the Very Big War. And when she saw a sharp dash of cat's hair on her pillow she Vanished it without a thought, because it was the Next Day and who cares about cat's hair anyway.

And then the rumours came, about a Dark Lord.

She Transfigured and Switched, he burned and raped.

She reproached and awarded House points, he possessed people.

She became to think there was a certain disbalance of power. And disbalance of safety. She was capable. She was going to approach the Headmaster with a formal request.

But as she was already in bed, looking above her book into the flame of her candle, she heard a knock. Professor Slughorn called upon her. He was very apologetic about the inconvenience, but a curious matter of morality had presented itself and could Professor McGonagall perhaps be interested in listening...

Well, the tale turned out to be not curious at all, but superficial and naive, to put it charitably. The hypothetical Innocent Person who got tricked into divulging Intelligence of Importance could just go say something to people whose lives were in danger because of it. Slam-dunk, Gryffindor scores again. But it convinced her - she didn't even notice arguing and losing - that going out there to do battle was not her best option. That she was right to stay a teacher and help Innocent People learn fighting and rebuilding.

And it was a relief.

And because of it she nearly quit right after Horace left. But she didn't. She never even noticed the white hair that House Elves would reverently pick from her nightgown and burn at once, like an offering.

Fear of responsibility didn't move her, fear of lack of responsibility couldn't either, but each year, there were, how did he say it, curious moral matters - that made her think, maybe it was time at last. To go. But she always decided to stay.

And then Professor Damocles announced that he was going to resign and concentrate his efforts on refining a potion he had just invented, with the help of a dedicated volunteer, a potion for Werewolves, and there was silence in the half-empty Teachers' Lounge.

Truly the Potions' Master position is cursed, she thought dazedly. Head of Potions, Head of a Department of one, as were they all, because it was a sign of Hogwarts' power over them and not their power over anybody else. Merlin knew the students never mistook it for one. And he decided to leave, to make the world a better place.

Sophie O'Hara would have found words, but Sophie had been killed last spring. Flitwick was hugging the man, muttering happy unintelligibles. Pomona cried. Deputy Headmistress McGonagall waved her wand and created them a nicer room, and left to patrol so the others could allow themselves to celebrate and not worry about fire and flood.

Damocles, leaving.

Her, staying.

It hurt.

But it had to be. The school had priority.

...

Minerva smiled at Remus Lupin and didn't tell him to change his mind.

Her card - she still had it somewhere - said that stuff about professorship. She would joke that she didn't need it, it was all written out there in the stars.


	2. Filius

2\. There's a difference between the eleventh hour and what we have now. Midnight.

Filius Flitwick had three powers that helped him stay afloat as Head of House and The Charming Professor. He was good at magic. He could hold his Firewhiskey. He trusted his colleagues.

That wasn't to say that the long vacation didn't have its own charms. Strolling in the sun or scrolling through catalogues - 'Unearthed Again' was his favourite, although it tended towards tragedy - it felt great to be alive.

It felt bad to say goodbye, but sometimes people came back again overnight, so there was also a possibility for hope -

'It's a formality,' Remus Lupin said awkwardly. 'I have to sign something in person. Tradition. But Albus isn't in, and Minerva has some urgent business in the city.'

'They pester her at all hours; something about preparing the school for the next year - as if we haven't done it times out of mind.' As always, the subject of Headmaster's comings and goings was best left to closed and shielded minds. Even Voldemort respected that convention. 'But come in! Wait with me, what a surprise!'

They sat down - too early for tea, or too late - anyway, now that the students were away they could have a drink. Filius unlocked his well-stocked case and pulled out a bottle.

'Ogden's?' Remus asked, blinking.

'And your age.'

'Um.'

Well of course it was a bit grand, what did the man expect from a Duelling champion. And of course to make it grander -

Filius snapped his fingers, and Hearthie winked in with a full tray poised on the tips of her fingers.

'Oh, you didn't have to!'

'We is very glad Master Remus comes. We wish he stay and teach again!'

Lupin bowed to a House Elf. Yes. One did wish.

'I cannot, unfortunately, but thank you for this wonderful meal.'

Hearthie sighed and winked away with a flourish. Filius poured them a measure apiece, picked a sandwich and half-turned from the table. He learned the first time he had the man at his table to let him eat unobserved.

'I haven't found a job yet,' Remus said ruefully.

In one unemployed evening. They both laughed at his directness.

'Don't give up the search,' Filius admonished with mock severity. 'You have to present yourself right - the first Defense Professor of Hogwarts to retain both his wits and his corporeality in three years!'

'Is that a rare thing? They didn't say it's a rare thing.'

'Certainly not a common one.'

'I had it easy. What with your stones and secret overdone bathrooms...'

'And your masterstroke was not antagonizing Harry Potter.'

'Oh, Harry's a sweet boy.'

Filius cackled, he couldn't help it.

'What?'

What indeed.

'They're all such sweet children here, it's a miracle we walk among the living! Take the Weasley twins.'

'No - better ward them off.'

'Draco Malfoy.'

'More bark than bite.'

Filius tried a different tack.

'Penelope Clearwater.'

Lupin blushed to the roots of his hair. 'A credit to Ravenclaw.'

'Ahem! But you are right. Teaching is its own reward.' He sipped his glass. 'Every year I think perhaps it's time to go, but I just can't do it.'

'You want to retire?'

'Don't fret, it's more of a recurring self-indulgent fantasy,' Filius leaned back. 'Hogwarts has me in her claws.'

Remus smiled, somewhat distracted.

'But I'd never try for Defence,' Filius said in dead earnest. 'Some people say you Defence Masters challenge Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, by I'd say you challenge every sick and twisty thing that wants to take the school.'

They drank then.

'But is there a curse?' Lupin asked quietly, looking into his glass.

'On the Headmaster's position, sure. Imagine having to hire everybody!'

And then having them leave, he didn't add.


	3. Severus

3\. And devil take the hindmost.

He was brewing. Not for any practical purpose, just to amuse himself.

Another year had passed, and the Werewolf was leaving for good. It was time to celebrate. Instead, as usual, Severus took a moment to reflect upon his own career.

Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and the new Head of SLytherin, knew exactly where he stood in relation to other teachers of The School and what the students said (and their parents). He had some educated guesses as to the Forbidden Foresters, too, but lacked the scientific spirit to pursue them.

Upon the whole, he was not well-liked.

At least Dumbledore was invariably civil - that year, and from that person, Severus learned the value of civility. Most people would have later said that he'd learned it only too well, but then again, most people were often wrong. He had it _just so_.

The second year was not better but somehow more even. Except for explosions. He was still surprised by explosions which served no conceivable purpose. The benevolent tradition was to call only the cases with confirmed bodily harm accidents, otherwise you had to say it was "a mishap", "a miscalculation" and so on, which was how, as he explained to the stony-faced Headmaster, he reached "utter imbecility".

Dumbledore - civil again, drat it, he had stopped for a while there, - invited Mr. Horatio Slughorn to that interview. But Slughorn, a Master of many years, shared a few experiences which by grace of acute peripheral vision, agility and having the bezoar within arm's reach had fallen short of accidents and exactly into that catch-all category. In the fullness of time one came to appreciate the little things in life. Severus only hoped this would not result in pineapple addiction.

His third year wasn't that bad, considering. The Ministry was the most trouble. The pretty Muggle Studies teacher who thought she could explain humanity to Junior Death Eaters, died in her sleep around Christmas (it was not uncommon with them), and not only had the administration to find a replacement on a short notice, but the pen-pushers from Up Above jumped at the chance of implicating Severus in doing the deed.

Just to keep it hot, he received several congratulatory notes, only secret enough to be noticed by Aurors. On the other hand, Slughorn the independent expert provided the formal alchemical proof of the natural cause of death - for some reason the dreaded Mad-Eye Moody was not called in, and the rest had to swallow it for truth - and McGonagall doused whatever it was that the student body had smouldering. Severus had tried following the children's miscalculations himself, but that semester he was too busy investigating a murder while pretending it was not one, to many very different people at once. The killer remained undiscovered, nor had he ever learned for certain who believed him and for what reasons.

Except for the Headmaster, but there, Severus wished to be doubted; and as always, it was denied him.

From then on, it was a steady progression. The fourth year wasn't at all horrible given the third, the fifth was a walk in the park... Hogwarts never stopped trying to birth her people into the world, but she grew more tolerant to failure - or maybe, Severus thought with a dark smile, like a true female she digested the lost cases.

Somehow, most of them tended to end up in one particular sink.

He gritted his teeth and stirred his cauldron again.

Defence took more than talent, cleverness or even skill. It took a purpose, a feeling, even what they called _Denkweise_ in those thick foreign textbooks. How do you make it stick? And it was so... flagrant, un-Hogrwatsey. Why, Defence was doomed from the start, which was what made it interesting.

Nobody said that McGonagall or Flitwick taught Conduct, or that Dumbledore presented Strategy, even though people came to them expecting to get better at these things. Nobody said the Hospital wing provided a free course in Negotiations. The school was great about unstated purposes, but not about the other kind.

Or perhaps (adding a pinch of asafoetida), this was him rationalizing his own chronic lack of success at his own clearly written duties. Ha, ha, ha, Snape.

Watching the newcomers fail one by one was a learning experience, yet the point of learning should be some kind of implementation, and Severus itched to try. Just once. He would not bargain about the price, he knew the risks, the whole blooming history was at his disposal, and he could read the lingo like the purest English language. All he wanted was _one shot_ at Defence.

He could make it work! Yeah, right, like all the others. Like, say, Lockhart.

'Evanesco.' The thing he had been brewing all morning disappeared, as a new idea came into his mind, tired of going in circles.

Lockhart had thought he could make it work, too. Even Quirrell had, at some point. However, both of them were beyond answering any questions... unlike the Werewolf.

Severus stretched and slowly, meticulously twitched his Professor Snape face into place.

It was time to attack and win.


	4. Sybil

Remus Lupin was customarily described as 'polite'. It was something about his expression, his willingness to wait for his turn.

At least when he was fully conscious.

But when you stop to think about it, a man can be only polite towards someone, or with someone, or - he cringed - _despite_ someone he had to deal with; it wasn't a quality of a person so much as of a conversation.

And never was this so apparent as when he had to talk with Madam Trelawney, the resident Seer.

'Yes, Ma'am,' Remus murmured politely. He didn't know what he was agreeing with, because listening to Trelawney made it worse.

He was feeling like he always did after Transformation. Flitwick had offered him Firewhiskey, at a shocking hour of the day, and now he was feeling his Firewhiskey, too. Then there was the whole being fired shtick. And Sirius had flown away. On a _Hippogriff_.

Life sucked, and he wanted to be able to say it out loud. Preferably to Dumbledore. Just something about Dumbledore's expression, he supposed. Instead, he was sitting as a guest in the Teachers' Lounge, nodding his head at regular intervals because people thought he had manners.

'No, of course not.'

Why on Earth did he have to come back just because some stupid bureaucrat had ordered it so? What happened to the usual efficiency of Hogwarts paperwork processing?

Trelawney laughed, leaning on his shoulder, and Remus ground his teeth. He could smell sherry on her breath. It seemed that the teachers of Hogwarts rather liked the end of the year...

And then the door opened and it turned out that in spite of his disbelief the day could actually get worse.

'Ah, Severus, good afternoon,' Trelawney chirped. 'You are always so pale when you, hic, emerge!'

Pale or not, Snape quickly gained some colour. Gloating made him seem more human.

'How fortunate,' he drawled. 'Lupin.'

'Snape.'

'Celebrating your newfound freedom, I see.'

Luckily for Remus, Trelawney tutted and tittered, taking this as a compliment to her charms. It was the best revenge he could imagine. And the Lounge was suddenly much more homey, as if the three of them had by chance happened to spend a free period together.

'...Has Minerva come back?' she asked at last. 'She reminded me about my lesson plans, again.'

'Lesson plans!' cried Remus, confused. 'So early?'

'It has to do with Astronomy,' Trelawney said with a sneer. 'Next year, we shall have a unique opportunity, since the calendar -'

Time to tune out again, he thought hastily. Snape sighed impatiently through his nose.

'I haven't seen her,' said the Slytherin abruptly. 'Mr. Lupin, I have something for you, if you recall our recent - discussion.'

Remus stifled a growl. Well, the kids were out of the way. They could have a discussion, if the man wanted it so badly. He really should tie all loose ends before leaving.

Scratch that, he should Floo when McGonagall would be in, sign everything and Floo away in five minutes, not intrude when everybody is acting strange and uprooted.

'Yes, we should give you a present!' Trelawney clapped her hands. 'So that you would think of us fondly, you naughty boy.'

 _Curse me NOW, Snivellus,_ he thought at the other man, but the Potions Master didn't bat an eye.

'I will remember you above all others,' he promised. To his consternation, she sniffed.

'It is so hard,' she said in a low voice. 'I had a peek at your summer! In my tea leaves, I mean. There was a Grim!'

'Was there?' they asked together.

'It was shoking. A mad growling monster!'

'Oh how aaawful.'

'I will take care, then.'

'You need to tell me all about it when you come back in September,' Trelawney went on. 'I heard you are moving away for the holidays? Touring the libraries, are you?'

What?

'Uh, Sybil...'

'I bet _your_ plans need not be adjusted for Astronomy's sake,' she shrugged defiantly, and he caught her shawl. 'Moon, Shmoon.'

'Sybil,' tried Remus. 'I am not returning in September.'

Snape almost smiled.

'No indeed.'

 _Shut up, Snivellus, and they say you're a Legillimens._

'But why not? Why do you Defense people keep leaving after just one year?'

Remus stared. He honestly didn't know what to tell her.

'They say there's a curse,' offered Snape. 'Cast by the Dark Lord? The latest one?'

'Rubbish. There's no such thing,' Trelawney stated with uncommon firmness. 'I would know.'

'Well that's...' _mmm no I taught here just yesterday_ , 'good to hear...'

'And generally speaking, what more do you want from life? Company, cuisine... adventure!'

'Life itself,' muttered Snape, under his breath.

'I've heard about young teachers' struggles, but this is taking it to ridiculous lengths,' Trelawney patted his arm. 'Ask our advice! Don't shut yourself in your rooms! We are all here to help you!'

'Yes, I, yes.'

Remus half-rose from his seat, gesturing at Snape and himself, but luck - or sherry - was against him; Trelawney was not taking any hints. She leaned towards him and resolutely blocked his escape, her eyes blinking and torso describing a gentle figure eight.

'A curse! Ha! As if Hogwarts would allow any other will to be imposed over the Headmaster's!'

 _What?_

'You mark my words, young man, don't perpetuate nonsense,' she went on reaproachfully. 'We have a responsibility to the students.'

Not for the first time in his life Remus wished he was an Animagus. He would have gladly turned into a goldfish.

'What about the Basilisk?' Snape asked leisurely. 'From last year.'

'Was there? I didn't see any,' said Trelawney, unconcerned.

'It was Slytherin's,' pointed out Remus despite himself (and maybe it was just something about Snape's expression). Slytherin was up there with the Headmasters, so maybe he counted.

'Well, that's alright, then, isn't it,' said the Professor of Divination serenely.

'So... what you imply is... the school has a measure of... discernment...'

'Of course it does!' Trelawney cooed. 'And I do not imply anything, it's clear as day! Honestly.'

Remus stammered, and Snape sighed and stood up.

And McGonagall was still who knows where.

'Are you going already?' Remus asked. The git smiled.

'I, too, have to prepare for the next year.'

 _Come on, give me a break. From her._ But out loud he said only, 'Good luck, then.'

'We shall see,' was all that Snape said before striding purposefully away.


End file.
